Damian gritted his teeth, his body drenched in sweat as he swung his sword repeatedly during combat class. His muscles ached from the relentless training he had been putting himself through. After weeks of grueling effort, he had finally made a breakthrough to become a Rank 1 Middle Aura Practitioner. His improvement had earned him some recognition, allowing him to climb 50 ranks, now standing at 427th. Though still far from the top, Damian felt a flicker of pride. But there was no time for celebration—he was still far from where he needed to be.
Today, his opponent was Arabelle Verdell.
"Alright, fish eyes, let's see if that training of yours paid off," Arabelle said, her violet eyes gleaming with amusement. She twirled her sword, the distinct technique of the Verdell Swordsmanship already evident in her stance. It was a sophisticated and dangerous style, renowned for its ability to exploit even the slightest weaknesses in an opponent's defense.
Damian shifted his feet, keeping his sword steady. He had seen enough of Arabelle's teasing to know she wasn't to be taken lightly. Still, he couldn't afford to back down, not now.
The instructor called for the match to begin, and Arabelle immediately launched into an elegant, almost graceful sequence of attacks. Each strike seemed to probe Damian's defenses, testing him, searching for flaws. He blocked and parried with all his might, but Arabelle's technique was relentless.
As the fight progressed, Damian could feel himself being pushed to the edge. His movements were becoming slower, his swings less precise, while Arabelle danced around him with ease.
"Come on, fish eyes," she taunted mid-swing, "is that all you've got?"
Damian growled, trying to focus. He attempted a risky counterattack, aiming for a gap in her defense. For a moment, it looked like he might land a hit, but Arabelle's eyes glimmered with knowing confidence. She deflected his sword with a precise flick of her wrist and, in the next instant, found his weak spot. Her sword slammed into his side, sending him stumbling back.
Before Damian could recover, Arabelle spun and struck him again, knocking his sword from his hand. The tip of her blade pressed lightly against his throat.
"Yield," she said, her voice filled with mocking sweetness.
Damian clenched his fists but nodded. He had lost.
Arabelle pulled her sword back and grinned, her face filled with amusement. "You really suck at this, you know that?"
Damian glared at her, wiping sweat from his brow. "I'll get better."
"Oh, I'm sure you will," she teased, "but not if you keep using that clunky standard military swordsmanship. Maybe you should try something else—like running away?"
Damian stayed silent as Arabelle laughed, walking off the sparring grounds. Despite the teasing, he couldn't help but feel frustrated. Her skill was on an entirely different level.
Third Person POV
Despite the warnings from the group of nobles, Arabelle kept pestering Damian, her presence a constant nuisance and amusement. Whenever she could, she stuck close to him, ignoring the whispers and glares from the other trainees.
"You should stay away from her, Damian," one of his dormmates warned. "She's only going to get you into trouble with the nobles."
Damian knew it was true. They had already threatened him once, but Arabelle was persistent. He suspected she was doing it on purpose, relishing the tension she created.
MC POV
Sitting on the training grounds late at night, Damian swung his sword with focused intensity. Each swing cut through the air, but his mind wasn't solely on his form—it wandered to the nobles who had warned him to stay away from Arabelle.
"I wonder when they're going to make their move," Damian muttered to himself. He could sense something brewing. The noble circle was not one to be trifled with, and Arabelle's insistence on hanging around him only made things worse.
"How boring," Arabelle's voice cut through the stillness of the night.
Damian paused, turning to see her lazily swinging her legs as she sat on a nearby chair, watching him train. "Then why don't you piss off?" he shot back, annoyed.
Arabelle grinned, unfazed by his irritation. "How cruel of you to tell your girlfriend to piss off. I'm hurt." Her voice dripped with sarcasm as she teased him.
Damian rolled his eyes. "Are you mad? Those words you're throwing around can get me killed. Besides, don't you have a fiancé?" His tone was cold, sharper than usual.
"Well, I'm still considering whether or not to keep him," Arabelle said with a shrug, her eyes twinkling mischievously. "If I'm going to have a husband, I at least want him to be stronger than me, you know? So don't worry, you're out of the running for that, fish eyes!" She let out a hearty laugh.
Damian shook his head, his grip tightening on his sword. "You're unbelievable."
"Come on, admit it," Arabelle teased, standing up and walking closer to him. "You'd miss me if I stopped pestering you."
"No, I really wouldn't."
"Liar."
She flashed him a grin, her playful banter never ceasing. But Damian wasn't in the mood for her games tonight. The tension with the nobles was rising, and he couldn't afford distractions—not even from her.